Hideous Beauty
by Maria Lynette
Summary: He may go to Hell tomorrow, but he will spend tonight in Heaven.


Disclaimer: I don't own _Harry Potter_, and I'm making no money from this story.

Hideous Beauty

Throngs of various people crowded the narrow streets of Diagon Alley to create a spectacle of wonder, diversity and freedom. Post-war Wizarding London was incredibly prosperous, and Hermione was proud to be immersed in the natural and lively rhythm of the city street that she and her friends had helped to reclaim from the darkest wizard of all time.

The sun shined on Hermione Weasley's already radiant skin, as she enjoyed a day of relaxation and shopping funded by her husband. It was the most thoughtful birthday present she had received in years, and the witch was enjoying every flawless minute of it.

In her mind, Ron's wonderful gift was proof that they could recoup the romance and passion lost from their marriage, which had long ago become abysmally mundane. Hermione realized that her youngest child joining his sister at Hogwarts was a blessing in disguise for her tired marriage. The chance to rediscover the burning emotion that she used to share with her husband fueled Hermione's determination to surprise Ron with a special gift that evening.

She cheerfully sauntered into Madame Malkin's Robes For All Occasions and leisurely perused the racks for a dress that would guarantee a steamy evening in the Weasley household.

Just as she was beginning to soak up the therapeutic effects of shopping, she heard Lavender Brown's piercing voice echoing from the fitting room. Hermione would know that voice anywhere after having been forced to live with it for seven years at Hogwarts. She hadn't even known that the little tart was still living in London.

As Lavender yapped about nothing to whoever her unfortunate companion was, Hermione decided to leave the shop for some coffee and come back later. Summoning all of her patience and resolve, Hermione turned to leave. However, before she made it out of earshot from Lavender's whining tones, the other woman ruined Hermione's entire life with a single flippant comment.

"I love these robes. They are far too tight, but I'm sure that Won-Won will have me out of them quickly enough."

To which her girlfriend replied, "You're never going to have him, Lav."

Denial consoled Hermione's breaking heart. Her mind pleaded with her to get away while there was still a chance that it wasn't her husband that Lavender was attempting to seduce, but her body was frozen in place from shock.

"Lav, he's never going to leave Granger, and you know it."

Lavender inhaled an exaggerated gasp and squealed, "Fibber! I know no such thing. As long as I can keep him interested, there's always a chance."

"I'm sorry, Lav, but you've been polishing his knob once a week for years. If it hasn't happened yet, then it's probably not going to happen at all."

Before the last sentence was even spoken in its entirety, anguish consumed Hermione. She didn't understand how one stupid woman could wreck her life with one stupid conversation. She couldn't fathom why Ron would risk the happiness of their family by cheating with that cheap whore for Merlin knows how long. The hot, angry tears were rolling off of her face and hitting her clinched fists before she ever knew that she was crying.

Not only was her relationship with her husband and children being jeopardized, but her friendship with Harry and her rapport with the Weasleys would also be strained. Her life would never be the same, and she struggled to grasp that concept. In that moment, she felt that her life would forever cease to be whole.

Hermione's anger was raging inside of her and marked on the surface by the sharp gleam in her eyes. Intense and destructive anger always took the place of pain in Hermione's heart. When she was hurt, it felt like a triumph for her when she lashed out at her adversaries instead of appearing broken before them.

That is why she snatched up the sexiest outfit she could find, paid for it, and strutted straight back to the fitting rooms in order to confront Lavender.

The two other women's bubbly giggles added fire to Hermione's anger, as she stood in front of the fitting room door watching for it to open. When it did open, Lavender Brown and Pansy Parkinson stood in awkward silence before the very witch about whom they had just been gossiping.

"Please feel free to continue your incessant chattering, ladies. After all, I have you to thank for updating me on my husband's love life. I'm sure that he will be as happy with you as I am, Lavender."

Lavender jutted out her bottom lip and donned a pout that was entirely inappropriate for a woman her age before saying, "Now that you know about us, I'm sure Won-Won will finally leave you. You don't deserve him anyway."

"You're right, Lavender. I don't deserve a cheating husband. He's all yours, if he will have you, but my bet is that he'll drop you when he finds out about all of the trouble you've just caused for him."

Lavender looked ready for a vicious retort, but Hermione pressed on by saying, "You actually thought that a man who doesn't believe in divorce was going to leave his wife for you? Until five minutes ago, he had comfort and stability, beautiful children, and a wife with a large income."

She grinned evilly and added, "If I know Ron, and I do, he will never want to see your ridiculous face again."

With that, she turned on her heel and marched out of the shop while leaving Lavender and Pansy utterly dumbfounded.

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Soft candlelight cast a dim glow across the Weasleys' dining room. A beautiful meal for two sat on the table, and fragrant flower petals littered the floor. When Ron walked into the room, he didn't notice any of it because his eyes were immediately drawn to his gorgeous wife. She posed in a seductive stance against the table while holding a glass of champagne in offering to him.

With a confident stride, he stepped forward, took the glass from her, and wrapped his arm around her in order to sit the glass down on the table. His arm lingered in the air behind her while he leaned close to her and smelled her hair. After spending a moment in silent appreciation of his wife's intoxicating scent and her natural beauty, he pressed his hand into the small of her back and pulled her to him for a hungry kiss.

Hermione leaned into the kiss, wrapped one leg around her husband's waist, and dug the heel of her stiletto pump into his hip. He moaned and slid his rough fingertips up her toned thigh. He moved his lips to her neck where he sucked and nibbled his way down to her generous décolletage.

Running his hands over the satin material that was barely covering her breasts, he said, "I love the new dress, Hermione. You look terrific."

The dress was made of a deep crimson satin, and it looked more like a negligee than a dress with its thin spaghetti straps and a split running up to the waist.

"Hermione smiled and whispered, "Thank you. I bought it just for tonight."

Ron pressed his lips to her ear, playfully nibbled her earlobe, and breathed, "And you made me this wonderful meal, too?"

She leaned back just enough to look at him in the eye. While tenderly brushing a bit of stray hair out of his lustful eyes, she said, "No. I made it for you and your lover, Lavender. I'm going out tonight."

Instant surprise and fear registered on Ron's blushing face before he lowered his head to rest on Hermione's chest. She stared into the blank space above his head and cracked a triumphant smile at his dejection.

"Hermione, I'm sorry. She doesn't mean . . ."

"I don't wish to talk about it, Ron!"

She gently pushed him away from her.

As she reached for her handbag and cloak, Ron exclaimed, "Where are you going?"

Her cool detachment was starting to anger him. He wanted to talk to her, but she seemed determined to leave. She continued to don her cloak, as if she hadn't heard his pleading question.

"Answer me, Hermione!"

When she turned her face to him, the bitter smile and hateful glare that greeted him was so unexpected that he couldn't stop himself from taking a step back.

"Ronald, my department is having a fundraiser tonight that I wish to attend. I won't be coming home afterwards. I need time to think about our marriage and my life. My new assignment is at Azkaban. I'll be staying on the prison's grounds while I study the Dementors."

"Dementors! Hermione, are you mental?"

Ron's voice elevated until he was shouting so loud that his voice was echoing throughout the empty house.

"You're going to just ignore me while you start this new assignment? Your precious magical creatures mean more to you than our marriage?"

"You're one to talk, Ron! Apparently, Lavender Brown means more to you than our marriage."

With that last biting remark, she Disapparated, leaving Ron standing in the middle of the dining room with only his supper for comfort.

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Only the day before, she had been so optimistic about her world. Now, as she boarded the tattered skiff that would take her to Azkaban Island, she felt consumed by the corruption, greed, and malice of mankind.

Her department at the Ministry of Magic was founded to improve the quality of life for all magical creatures, but none of her co-workers wanted to take the assignment at Azkaban. They weren't really concerned with building charities for endangered creatures and working to gain knowledge of creatures which wizards knew virtually nothing about, such as Dementors. Most people working in her department only took easy and glamorous assignments that made them look good while they sat back and collected their handsome paychecks. Hermione was sick of the lot of them. She couldn't wait to settle in at the prison where she could study the infamous Dementors and spend time alone with her misery.

As the skiff's arrival at the island drew near, Hermione noticed many eerie details about her surroundings. The murky water became solid black and completely stagnant. It seemed logically impossible because of the boat's increasing speed, but Hermione felt not the slightest flicker of wind against her exposed arms and face. Everything became dull, still, and silent. The silence plagued Hermione like a bad omen.

Rising out of the dense fog, the forsaken island appeared. It was a cold, solid mass of volcanic rock that supported the oppressive fortress of Azkaban Prison. The sharp cliffs looked treacherous, and the rocks below were littered with the remains of failed escapees.

Churning above the prison's numerous spires, were pendulous masses of foreboding storm clouds. Hermione noticed something odd about the dark clouds. They looked unnatural and even freakish, so she kept a critical eye on them while the skiff made contact with the shore.

An audible gasp echoed through the dense night air, but Hermione was too astonished to be embarrassed by her loud exclamation. She didn't even acknowledge the few passengers who glanced at her in annoyance because her face remained tilted towards the heavens in wonderment.

They weren't clouds at all. They were a congregation of Dementors, and she found them hideously beautiful.

She heard a loud thump and turned around to see her bag and a large trunk sitting at her feet.

The trunk was a token of goodwill from Harry. When Ron told him that Hermione was moving to Azkaban to study Dementors, he wrote her a short letter wishing her well along with the trunk filled with ancient books from the Black family library. Harry's letter explained that the trunk contained a rare collection of dark texts on the topic of Dementors and that he hoped the books would be useful to her in conducting research. Hermione was grateful to Harry for respecting her decision to separate from Ron and for sending her such a useful gift.

Hermione would begin studying the mysterious creatures before dawn the next morning, so she eagerly collected her baggage and hiked up to the grim prison's heavily guarded entrance.

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Approximately fifty ghoulish Dementors hovered near the open tower where Hermione sat absorbed in her observation of them.

Dementors didn't have faces. Empty darkness filled their ethereal hooded cloaks. However, Hermione was discovering that she could identify each one of them through slight variations in size and shape. The many shades of grey from one Dementor to another also aided in identification.

Hermione's aloof mood kept the deadly creatures at bay. She was tired of crying over her failed life, and she felt apathy towards her marriage. The only aspect of her life that felt vital at that moment was her work, but, as she tended to observe subjects with a somewhat clinical attitude, she wasn't providing much emotion off of which a Dementor could feed. In case the Dementors ventured close to her position, her wand remained secured within her thick winter cloak.

After several abysmal hours of taking notes, Hermione realized that dawn never happened. A faint glow escaped the edges of the island's dark skies, which were constantly crowded with storm clouds and Dementors. The sky's meager luminance gleamed darker than twilight and brighter than night, and she realized that the sky had looked exactly the same the night before. Turning her pale face away from the somber heavens, Hermione breathed a sigh of dejection.

A sudden wave of heightened emotion surfaced in her thoughts. Waking every morning, living every day, and spending every night beneath the same macabre sky triggered feelings of oppression that badgered Hermione's heart. She wondered why she had never heard or read about the atmospheric conditions on the island before. She dropped her quill onto the parchment resting in her lap and buried her face in her hands.

While questioning how she was going to survive in a land of perpetual night, she allowed detailed memories of summer days with her children to play in her mind. She smiled and sobbed at the same time. Resting her tired head, she spent a few moments in peaceful reflection.

An unexpected chill penetrated her warm cloak and caused her to refocus. After wiping her face with a handkerchief, she grasped her quill and parchment and looked to the sky with clarity. The image that greeted her gaze caused her to choke with fear.

She had managed to attract several Dementors. They grew closer every moment, as they soared downward in a spiraling formation.

Her quaking body refused to obey her command to stand. She tried to move, but she only ended up falling from the chair. While lying on the freezing stone floor, she calmed herself down by taking deep breaths before disentangling her wand from her cloak.

The Dementors closed in on her. The temperature of the air drastically dropped, and she felt like her heart was dying. Hermione prepared herself to cast the Patronus Charm. Confronting the ravenous Dementors with a steady glare, she pointed her wand at the dark mass of them. Before she could open her mouth to utter the spell, they slowly backed away from her and took their icy despair along with them.

Hermione collected herself and rose to her feet. Breathing a sigh of relief, she turned to collect her satchel and, once again, stiffened in extreme confusion.

Standing directly behind her was a remarkably tall Dementor. She was staring at its waist, and she could see its lifeless skeletal hands dangling loosely at its sides while it silently hovered over her. The petite witch gradually tilted her face up to focus on the Dementor's head, and she saw that the creature's darkened hood was already turned down to her.

After collecting her wits to examine her dangerous, yet intensely intriguing, situation, she noticed that the air was still infused with a biting chill, but the despair that had left along with the rest of the Dementors was still gone.

While maintaining a tight grip on the wand at her side, she asked, "May I pass, please?"

It immediately drifted out of Hermione's path. She stood amazed for several seconds before walking past the imposing being.

At the top of the stairs, she turned back to the creature with a questioning look in her eyes. She suddenly realized that it had saved her from the rest of the Dementors. They had retreated before she could cast her Patronus because it had somehow warned them away by appearing behind her.

"Thank you."

The atypical Dementor gave Hermione a slight nod and began moving closer to her.

Because she was still wary of her odd savior, she yelled, "Stop! Keep your distance."

The Dementor halted, and Hermione descended from the tower.

As she passed by guards and other prison personnel throughout the day, she noticed that everyone was looking at her in blatant puzzlement. At first, she assumed that they were giving her odd looks because she was new, but, after one man practically ran away from her, she knew that something was amiss. Looking around, she started at seeing the Dementor standing roughly three meters behind her before recognizing it as the same one from the tower. She let out an amused huff at the fact that it maintained the exact distance from earlier when she had told it not to come any closer to her.

Each time she turned to confront her strange companion, it adjusted its position to where it was directly behind her and out of her line of vision.

She laughed at the thought that she and her Dementor essentially looked like characters directly out of a Muggle cartoon. It looked like a whimsical ghost stalking Thelma on an episode of _Scooby Doo_. She found it fascinating that such a powerful creature would hide from a pint-sized witch.

She wanted a better look at it, so she demanded, "Let me see you, Dementor."

Within seconds, it was hovering in front of her while maintaining its distance. She knew that Dementors never displayed any semblance of a personality in front of wizards, but this one had already proved to be brave and funny. Standing in front of her, it also appeared noble because its hands were clasped together in front of its body in respectful resignation, and it sustained a regal posture. Its cloak was blacker than the shadows within it, and its hands were iron grey.

Hermione's Dementor was a true enigma. She wrote detailed notes on her unusual interaction with it, and she became curious about how the creature would react towards others.

That evening, she gained access to a low security ward of the prison, and her Dementor followed her right into a prisoner's cell.

The prisoner was terrified because he had never been so close to a Dementor before. After the war, they became restricted to death row and select high security wards, but most of them continued to congregate outside of the prison anyway.

Hermione only had one question for the forlorn prisoner.

She asked, "How does this Dementor make you feel."

In an agonizing voice, the man replied, "I feel a thousand times more miserable than I did before you arrived here with it, and I feel cold. Prisoners aren't given warm clothes, Miss. Please, take it away from me!"

Extreme sadness gripped Hermione when she realized that she was inflicting real pain upon the prisoner.

"Sir, I'm . . . I apologize profusely. Thank you."

Fleeing from the ward, she became disturbed over the fact that her Dementor was just as menacing as the rest of them. She paused to worry about her state of mind. Surely she wasn't that depressed. After all, she had just been thinking fondly on her children that morning. Her memories of them were what had attracted the other Dementors, so she didn't understand how she could be so unaffected by one of them.

It must have been protecting her from its inherent melancholy, but she desperately wondered why it would do that for her.

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In the middle of the night, Hermione awoke to dead silence and crisp cold air. Sometime during her slumber, her feet had ventured out from under the blankets to dangle over the edge of the mattress. She slid them back under the blankets and rubbed them against each other in a vain attempt to generate warmth. It took her several minutes to convince her exhausted body to get up and put on socks. She rolled onto her back and noticed her breath forming faint puffs of white swirling smoke in front of her eyes. She immediately felt uneasy.

As she propped herself up on her elbows, she scanned the dark room for anything out of place. Moonlight spilled across her bed, but everything else was cast in shadow. Her search came to an abrupt halt at the corner of the room adjacent to the door. She thought that she was looking at a faint silhouette, but the shades of black were difficult to decipher.

If there was an intruder in her room, they were situated between her and her only escape route. She slid her right hand under her pillow and seized her wand in a tight grip. While fighting to contain a shiver, she decided to brace herself and address the possible presence in the corner.

She blinked, squinted her eyes in an attempt to clear her vision, and demanded, "Who are you? Step forward."

As the cloaked figure floated into the light, panic seized hold of Hermione. In an instant, she flung herself against the headboard of her bed and clutched a mass of blankets to her chest. After a moment, she recovered her senses enough to remember her wand and conceal it in case she needed to strike.

She recognized it as the Dementor that had been following her around all week like a lost puppy. She was still unwilling to lower her defenses, but she was able to approach the situation with a little less fear. She had become accustomed to its presence while she was working, but having it show up in her bedroom was a still a bit frightening.

Her voice was calm and clear when she asked, "What do you want?"

At once, the mysterious being crept closer and extended one decrepit hand towards her face. Her wand was out and pointed at the creature's shadowy face before she could even think about what she was doing. For a moment, both stood frozen.

Hermione's heavy breathing eventually grew calm, but she kept the Dementor at wand point. She was intrigued and confused, but she hadn't forgotten that the being in front of her was very dangerous.

It bowed its gruesome head and slowly retreated from her bedside. As it turned towards the door, Hermione's heart went out to the beast.

She knew that she was going crazy, but she felt sorry for it because it was obviously hurt by her actions. As an advocate of equal rights for all magical creatures, she felt compelled to care about them more than the average person.

She nervously opened her mouth to answer, but her vocal cords were numb with apprehension. She took several deep breaths, swallowed, and squeaked, "Don't go!"

She scrambled forward to the foot of the bed and sat there staring at the dark figure. It hovered near the door with its head turned towards her. She could never be sure where it was looking, but she felt that it was looking into her heart because she suddenly felt great inner warmth that contrasted with the coldness around her.

Once again, it moved closer to her and held out its hand, but, instead of trying to touch her, it waited for her to respond. When she finally realized that it wanted to make physical contact with her, she extended her trembling hand and placed the smooth palm against its cold grey one. It simply stayed in front of her holding her hand.

Her hand was freezing, and shivers flowed through her body, but she still didn't want to break contact with it. The feeling of inner warmth that she had felt when it looked at her was insignificant compared to what she was feeling in their touch. It had been years since felt so connected with another soul. Another being wanted and needed her, and it felt amazing to be needed.

The Dementor released her hand when her shivering became noticeable, and her dry lips turned a frightening shade of blue. It briefly touched her cheek with the back of its fingers before bowing to her and retreating into its corner.

Hermione was moved beyond words, which wasn't a problem because the Dementor's intentions were completely clear. It wanted to stay with her for the night, and she no longer wanted it to leave. Her strange companion was a dangerous creature, but she felt it worth the risk to be able to spend a night in the presence of someone who obviously cared for her. After all, she had taken a risk when she married her best friend, and she doubted that any Dementor could possibly cause more damage to her psyche than he did, even if it did try to give her the Kiss.

It was not a rational thought, but Hermione just wanted to lose herself in emotion for the night because, for the first time since she had left Ron, she was feeling something besides heartache.

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When Hermione awoke, she snapped into a sitting position and stared at the empty corner previously occupied by her spectral guardian. Her bright eyes lingered in remembrance, and a tiny smile graced her lips. Sleep had quickly and utterly overtaken her the night before and she felt replenished.

An immediate urge to conduct further research caused her to practically sprint to the shower and ready herself for a long day with the Black family books.

The full momentousness of what happened to her the night before was gradually stimulating her brilliant mind to produce a plethora of hypotheses about the mysterious nature of Dementors. The moment they had shared was beyond surreal, and Hermione had never heard of anything even remotely similar to her encounter with the creature. If it had happened to someone before her, it was definitely extremely rare. The opportunity for original research reignited her insatiable thirst for learning.

Morning turned to night, and hours passed away unnoticed while Hermione immersed herself in mountains of ancient leather-bound books. To her, the smell of the stale bindings and the flicker of candlelight across the page accentuated an already perfect evening. After finishing one particularly unhelpful text, she tossed it aside while yawning into her hand.

The day had passed quickly, and Hermione delighted in the information and entertainment discovered in the plethora of books haphazardly scattered around her, but she hadn't found what she was looking for. There were still a few texts stacked in the mahogany trunk and waiting for her perusal, so she wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, randomly picked a book, and settled into a cozy position on the sofa.

Placing the faded tome in her lap, she traced her fingers over the gold filigree inlaid on the front cover. She admired the subtle intricacies of the design while blowing dust out of the artwork's many peaks and valleys. The book's title, _Tortured Souls_, was written across the very bottom of the cover in blood-red calligraphy. No author was credited anywhere on the outside of the curious text, so she took a glance inside. What she saw within the book's cover was nothing short of breathtaking. It was a handwritten manuscript with miniature illustrations in the margins reminiscent of _The Canterbury Tales. _

Hermione carefully scanned one brittle page after another until she finally came to the crux of the main subject.

In a voice whispering in astonishment, Hermione read, "When a soul is forced from its body by a violent or tragic death, it is possible for the soul to split in half. This only happens in cases of extreme violence to wizards who experience deep agony in the last moments of life. A broken soul, much like a Horcrux, is volatile and complex. However, if a soul is untainted by evil before the fracture, half of it will ascend to the afterlife. The other half is what we call the 'tortured soul.' This is similar, but not equal, to how the maker of a Horcrux will live on while the fractured piece of their soul remains the same as it was at the time that it was severed. The tortured soul remains detached from the joys and loves of its former life. It only dwells on the pain, sorrow, and loss associated with its premature death, and it wanders the earth in search of closure that it will never find. After years of aimlessly wondering in agony, the tortured soul begins to breed hate and discord. It becomes twisted, evil, and willing to revenge its lack of happiness by attempting to steal joyful feelings from the living. This is how a Dementor is born. Little is known of their corporeal bodies, but they seem to be a physical manifestation of the misery and fear they produce in the hearts of the Wizarding population."

An intense feeling of horror overwhelmed Hermione, as she stared blankly at the page. After her shock finally dissipated, she cried. She had shed many tears since her unhappy departure from her home, but, instead of lamenting her own insignificant problems, she wept over the tragic plight of the Dementor.

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Hermione was asleep on the sofa with her head tilted back on the armrest and her mouth open while she snored lightly. She had yet to finish the massive tome that was still open on her lap. She awoke to the sound of stifled laughing coming from the doorway. She crossed her arms over her eyes and moaned her embarrassment loud enough to stop the laughter.

Harry and Ron stood at the door. Harry was still smiling broadly at Hermione's discomfort. Ron waited patiently beside his best friend while Hermione smoothed back her hair and wrapped a blanket around her nightgown. She didn't like Ron being in her suite, but she knew that they must both need to speak with her about something important.

Hermione faced her surprise guests and said, "How did you two get in here?" Looking at her watch, she added, "What are you doing here so early?"

Harry decided that it would be best if he spoke for both of them, so he said, "It's good to see you, too, Hermione. We had business with the warden this morning, and he let us into your suite. Molly's birthday is coming up, and we needed to know if you will be there for the dinner we are planning for her."

"Of course I will come, Harry. Just let me know . . ."

Her speech trailed off when she felt the room chill, and she knew that her dark angel had arrived to watch over her.

The dread etched into the faces of her husband and her best friend told her that said angel had appeared somewhere behind her.

As he pulled out his wand, Ron pleaded, "Hermione, you need to take three steps to your right."

"No, Ron. You don't understand . . ."

"Just do it!" He sounded frightened, but she was trying to tell him that the Dementor wasn't going to hurt her.

Her only worry was the harm that it was probably already inflicting on Ron and Harry. Harry had always been sensitive around Dementors. She was a bit surprised that he hadn't already fainted.

"He's not going to hurt me, Ron, but you and Harry should leave because he will harm the two of you."

"He? Hermione, have you gone completely nutters? You are talking about that thing like it's a man!"

Hermione hadn't realized that she had started to think of the Dementor as a man until Ron brought it to her attention. It had the mannerisms of a man, and it treated her as a man should treat a lady. After reading that book, she knew that it was human, or it used to be human.

Ron raised his wand, but Hermione was too quick for him.

She screamed, "_Expelliarmus_!"

Ron scrambled to grab his wand from the floor and yelled, "What the fuck is wrong with you? We came here to talk to you, and that monster is making me feel like shit, Hermione. Why won't you let me get rid of it?"

Hermione quickly became angry that Ron was using such foul language with her.

"I'm sorry, Ron, but I didn't invite you here. You know that I came here to get away for a while, but you chose to come anyway. I'll be there for Molly's dinner. Tell Ginny to contact me about it. Now, I'd like you to leave."

Ron gave her an indignant huff and said, "Come on, Harry. We're not welcome here."

Harry had been silent for some time. He continued to look at the Dementor with a confused expression on his face. "You go ahead. I'll meet you at the boat."

Ron stomped away in anger after loudly slamming the door.

A smile graced Hermione's lips. "He doesn't bother you either, does he? I've been watching you the whole time. You seem quite at ease. Normally, you would have fainted by now, or you would have been close to doing so, at least."

Harry's questioning stare drifted from the Dementor to Hermione. "It's remarkable, Hermione. You've found a friendly Dementor."

"No, Harry. He's very dangerous. Ron seemed extremely affected by him just now, and everyone else who comes in contact with him is, too. You and I are the only two people that he doesn't harm."

Harry whispered, "How is this possible? Remus said that they are soulless."

"Not exactly, Harry. I'm working on an answer, but I need more time. The fact that he doesn't bother you is very surprising. It's also interesting enough to include in my notes."

She opened a notebook and starting jotting down information.

"Well, it's still really creepy. I feel like it made me happier than I was before I got here, so this situation is a bit too bizarre. I'm not comfortable with it. I'm sorry, Hermione, but I can't stay."

They embraced, and Harry left Hermione to her research.

As she walked back towards the sofa, she noticed the ornate book that she had been reading the night before lying crumpled on the floor. She glanced over at her voyeuristic Dementor. As he silently settled into a random dark corner, she picked up the ancient book and began to smooth out the fragile pages carefully and meticulously.

One of the pages was ripped from the brittle binding. As Hermione attempted to repair it, she noticed that it contained an intricate spell of some sort. The spell required that the caster execute a staccato series of complicated wand movements while chanting "_Verto Cruciatus Animus_" three times. It definitely looked like a dark spell, but Hermione's curiosity prompted her to keep reading.

She finished reading and looked up at her Dementor with eyes alight with infatuation and curiosity. Unshed tears welled up in them at the thought of being able to see the man's true form instead of just a mere wraith underneath a decaying cloak. She wanted to see what her savior had looked like as a man. She longed to speak to him and to touch him.

She felt guilty for even thinking of performing a dark spell to bring him back from the Hell in which he was living because she knew that she would only be doing it for herself. The spell would only return him from eternal torment for one day, and she didn't know if she could bear giving him a glimpse of her world if he must be thrust back into darkness the next day.

Sensing her distress, her dark companion approached her with outstretched hands. For a moment, she allowed his icy hot embrace before breaking away and declaring, "Merlin, help me!"

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Two days later, Hermione was convinced that she needed to perform the questionable spell. She told herself that being able to converse with the fractured soul in it's original form would give her valuable insight into the existence of Dementors. The information would be priceless, and her research would be complete.

Hermione returned to her suite in the early afternoon and changed into the same satin dress that she had worn for Ron. It made her feel strong and beautiful, and she definitely needed some extra confidence for the evening. After lighting every candle in the room, she opened the faded text to the page containing the spell and practiced the wand movements.

When a mysterious wisp of cold air caused the candles to flicker, Hermione's breathing deepened in anticipation. Her Dementor floated into the room, and she quickly rose to greet him.

"Do you trust me?"

She asked him that one simple, yet so complex, question. He nodded his veiled head in affirmation, and waited for her to do as she pleased.

Summoning all of her determination, she cast the dark spell over her beloved companion. Warm light replaced the shadow underneath the dingy cloak. As the light continued to burn brighter, the cloak melted away to reveal a handsome young man. He was, at least, fifteen years Hermione's junior with messy black hair, and she thought that he looked adorably sexy in the glasses he was wearing.

They instantly gravitated to one another. Both of them were hungry for a human touch, and their embrace was pure affection.

Hermione regarded him as the most beautiful man in the world. Something felt familiar about him, but she considered the fortnight she had spent in his soul's presence and thought nothing more of it.

His touch felt like sex itself because it caused her skin to tingle in ecstasy when he caressed her arms, shoulders, and neck. His touch was still very cold, but it was electrifyingly enjoyable. He reveled in the feel of the smooth combination of shapely curves and satin material, as he ran his hands from her waist down to her thighs.

Hermione couldn't get enough of his wild silky hair. She repeatedly ran her delicate fingers through it while she brushed her plump lips along his neck. She brought her trembling body flush with his and began to gently rock her hips against him.

He escaped her early attempts to join their lips in a kiss, so she gave up and allowed him to take control. They moved to the bedroom, and she invited the familiar stranger into her bed. He avoided her mouth, but he delivered deliciously intense kisses to every other part of her body. After sliding her dress up to her waist, he trailed kisses up her inner thighs. He enjoyed the tight grip of her hands in his hair while he breathed in her sweet womanly scent.

He continued to push the dress up her body while covering each bit of newly exposed skin with his tantalizing kisses. After lifting the dress over her head and dropping it to the floor, he wrapped her legs around his waist. He ran his hands along her silk stockings while burying his face in her sumptuous breasts. He licked and nibbled at each pink nipple until they were inflamed with arousal, and Hermione moaned in delight.

At the peak of her pleasure, Hermione ripped her lover's shirt from his body to explore his muscular chest with her soft hands. She thrust her hips towards him and used her heels to push down his trousers.

At once, he understood her need. He unbuttoned his trousers and pushed them down to his knees. He positioned his firm manhood at her slick center and savored the feel of her tight canal, as he tenderly pushed into her quivering body.

He buried himself deeper inside of her, and her cries of pure elation made him lose control. He continuously drove into her with fierce desire while she thrust her hips up to meet him at a steady rhythm. It was fluently beautiful lovemaking, and they were both lost in a rare feeling of complete perfection.

When the warm walls of her sex started to pulsate around his thick cock, he slid his hand down to her clitoris and stimulated her with his thumb. She let go and gave herself over to the orgasm that engulfed her entire body in an electrifying thrill. Her final cry of pleasure prompted his climax to quickly follow hers.

In the peaceful aftermath of their first coupling, Hermione realized that they hadn't spoken to each other at all since his transformation. The golden silence seemed too precious to break, but she needed to communicate with him. She needed to maintain her feeble excuse for bringing him back, which meant that she had to speak with him about his experiences since death.

She traced her fingers over his damp chest and said, "That was amazing. Thank you."

She looked into his eyes and smiled. He looked back at her in confusion. It was like he was really seeing her for the first time.

She became a bit nervous and added, "I'm sorry I didn't speak to you earlier. I just couldn't wait to touch you."

With a furrow in his brow, he replied, "You're not Lily."

He made no effort to escape from her embrace. He simply looked at her while waiting for an explanation. Hermione felt guilty for not realizing that he was so disoriented. She thought that he knew her because he had been so willing to touch her.

He asked, "Who are you?"

"I'm Hermione. Don't you remember me?"

She couldn't hold back her tears as she asked the question.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. My name is James. I thought you were my wife, Lily, but I've been a bit confused since I . . . died." He fixed her with a serious gaze and said, "Did my wife and child survive?"

It was then that Hermione finally recognized the man lying naked next to her. It was Harry's father. She placed her head on his chest and sobbed. She was feeling too many emotions at once. The fact that he was her best friend's father caused her great confusion because she cared deeply for him even though she knew that Harry would disapprove. However, knowing that a good man like James Potter had lost part of his soul through no fault of his own bothered her more than anything. It pained her to think that his soul fragment was condemned to spend eternity as a Dementor.

The book had said that the tortured soul never received closure. Hermione looked up at James with a tear-stained face, and smiled at the fact that she could, at least, offer him that.

He wiped away her tears and said, "They're dead, aren't they?"

"Lily died saving Harry's life from Voldemort, but Harry survived and killed him. Do you remember your death?"

"I remember Voldemort cursing me, and I remember the unbelievable anguish of knowing that my family was going to be murdered. After that, I was immersed in complete darkness and suffering. Then, I saw you. You reminded me of Lily."

"James, I have to tell you something hard." Hermione's voice was solemn. James looked worried, but he gave her a slight nod. "Voldemort split your soul when he murdered you. Half of your soul moved on to the afterlife along with Lily's soul, and they both watch over Harry from a peaceful place." She swallowed hard and continued, "Part of your soul couldn't move on, James, because you died a violent death. The reason you only remember darkness after your death is because you became a Dementor."

James was surprisingly calm while he thought about what Hermione was telling him. He asked, "How am I not a Dementor, now?"

Hermione had no idea that it would be so difficult to face what she had done. As she prepared to confess her selfish and dark trespass, severe remorse consumed her thoughts.

"I used a dark spell that reverts you to your original form for one night only. I was so alone here until you took an interest in me. You followed me around every day. You kept me company and made me feel wanted. I just wanted to see you as a man. I'm so sorry, James."

James didn't believe that the beautiful angel in his arms was apologizing for blessing him with a short reprieve from the darkness in which he lived. He was grateful for the happiness and peace that she had granted him, even if it was for only a short time. He could see the shame in her gorgeous eyes, and he didn't wish to waste the rest of his time as a man on such horrid emotions.

"Hermione, how can you feel shame over bringing me such joy? You've given me closure, and you've given me your love. Who's to say that I won't pass into the afterlife after receiving such blessings? I can't explain to you how much joy I felt at being able to touch you after being alone for so long."

Wet strands of hair were stuck to her flushed face, so he wiped them away and brought his cold lips to her warm forehead.

Pulling her into a tight embrace, he whispered, "I might be returning to Hell tomorrow, but I'm spending tonight in Heaven."

She exhaled and slid one hand down his body until it disappeared beneath the sheet draped across his toned abdomen. She wrapped her hand around his thick shaft and slowly stroked him. She felt peaceful pleasure in the feel of his silky smooth skin against her palm.

When he began to harden, he stopped her and disappeared under the sheets. She giggled loudly when she felt the first tickle of his tongue between her legs. As the licking became more intense, she arched her back while throwing her head back in genuine bliss. He inserted two fingers into her soaking wet vagina and began to suck and nibble while reveling in her intoxicating taste.

She came undone for him, and he lay down beside her to admire her brilliant radiance in the aftermath of her orgasm.

Hermione met his hungry gaze and immediately needed him inside of her. She straddled him and teased him by rubbing her sultry cunt along his hard length before swiftly impaling herself on his impressive manhood. She rode him fast and hard. Her hands kneaded his chest while his hands gripped her fleshy bottom. He stared at her in awe of her beauty when she cried out in orgasmic ecstasy.

Together, they experienced the most invigorating lovemaking of their lives. They fell asleep in each other's arms and enjoyed the tranquility and wholeness that they provided for each other. Just before morning, Hermione pleaded with James to give her one kiss by which to remember him.

James licked his brisk lips and leaned down to Hermione's alluring little mouth. All night, he had longed to taste those ruby lips, but a familiar fear gripped his heart every time he considered partaking in the cherished act. Somewhere in his subconscious mind, he equated kissing with deadly peril.

He could no longer refrain from connecting with his lover in such simple intimacy. A kiss was the last comfort he wished share with his beauty before returning to his dark inhuman form, and the fire in her eyes told him that her desire matched his own.

Hermione understood the intense conflict in her lover's expression, as he paused at the brink of brushing his lips against hers.

She breathed, "If you don't kiss me, I shall die anyway."

As she uttered those words, her hot breath caressed James' cold lips. He relished the tragic passion of her words, and took a long last look into her angelic eyes before enveloping her plump lips in a forceful kiss.

Hermione moaned into his mouth and pulled his naked body close to hers. His kiss' euphoric poison amplified her senses, so the friction between their exposed skin and the stroke of their tongues colliding felt extraordinary.

The feeling was so incredible that both lovers were at the edge of another erotic release. As morning descended upon Azkaban Island, the star-crossed lovers experienced their final moment of bliss.

As the pinnacle of Hermione's pleasure approached, her consciousness faded from her radiant body.

In her dreams, she witnessed James' ascension into the calm afterlife.


End file.
